


I Want To Be Well

by Raven_Novak



Series: Brave New World [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: ... In Hell, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, Hanging Out, Heavenly Host, Post-Season/Series 10, Redemption, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Novak/pseuds/Raven_Novak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4175031/chapters/9425940">Dust In The Wind</a></p><p>With no one else up to the task of leading Heaven, Gabriel creates a Council for the Heavenly Host. However, the archangel feels himself weighed down by the weight of everything that has happened, frozen by his reluctance to address his own concerns and mend his relationship with his surviving sibling: Lucifer. </p><p>Angels and gods alike air their concerns, Gabriel feels his nerves fraying, and Hell truly is better company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want To Be Well

**Author's Note:**

> Song: ["I Want To Be Well"](https://youtu.be/IO17WyaU2mE)

More times than not, Heaven can be a real Hell. Gabriel would know; he’s been to both. And to be perfectly honest, he’s beginning to prefer Hell. At least the company there isn’t so uptight. That, and there’s whiskey.  


In fact, Gabriel is thinking about a nice glass of Craig right now as he sits around a large circular table with ten other angels as if they’re the Knights of the Fucking Round Table. Minus the cool swords and armor. He sighs as the angel before him, someone named Josephine who is wearing a waitress, finishes her oratory.  


“-and that’s why I really think we should rotate the garrisons monitoring the Middle East Purgatory Gate.”  


“That’s very nice, thank you Josephine. You can take your seat.” Tilting her head back haughtily, the angel reassumes her spot directly across from Gabriel, folding her hands neatly over one another as she rests them on the surface of the glass. She casts him a glare from across the table.  


The room is medium-sized, bright and unnervingly sterile. A while ago, before the Darkness, it used to belong to Naomi, or at least he’s fairly certain it did. At that time he had been doing his very best to avoid Heaven, and by all means, Naomi as well.  


And now here he is, hosting the weekly Heavenly Council, taking a page out of humanity’s catalogue of ill-fated governmental institutions. The old system hadn’t been working, the realms of Heaven rotting away and crumbling to dust in the absence of their Father. Although Hannah had managed to reshape the Heavenly Host into something more democratic, more manageable, there had still been tensions, namely between the angels and a certain Team Free Will.  


But Hannah is dead now, and after the Darkness there had been no one left to lead Heaven; Michael was trapped, Azrael was no leader, and Gabriel wouldn’t let Lucifer anywhere within 100 feet of a position of power. So that left him. The former Trickster. Leading Heaven.  


Of course, Gabriel is a creature designed to lead. As much as he tries to appear lenient and carefree, it is not in his nature. He is done fighting his purpose. However, he’ll be damned if that means he gets _all_ of the power. He certainly isn’t going to be chained to this place 24/7 (or at least, within the Heavenly equivalent of Earth time).  


Thus the Council had been born. There had been skepticism at first, some members shyly accepting positions and attending forums with all of the meekness of those forced to attend AA meetings under the urgency of a family member. And then there were those who stole the spotlight with all of the force of a drunken hurricane. Those ones always tended to make interesting meetings.  


Unfortunately, this is not one of those meetings. Then at least he’d have something to keep his interest.  


The meeting draws to a close finally, the angels and few Pagan gods he had invited dispersing. Once he thinks himself to be alone, Gabriel lets out a tremendous sigh, resting his head against the cool glass of the table. Of course, the table isn’t quite there, as is the case with almost anything and everything in Heaven; it is simply a projection of physicality manufactured by his vessel’s brain, his own thoughts having become increasingly human over his centuries on Earth. Nonetheless, the glass feels cold, and he feels hot and tired and -  


“Gabriel?”  


The archangel is caught off guard by the sound, but he does his best not to show it. With a languid motion, he lifts his head from the table and turns in his chair to face the voice. He regards the haggard, bearded man with a softened expression, glad to be greeted by one of the few faces which would not either annoy or bore the shit out of him at the moment.  


“Veles,” he responds with all of the amicability he can muster.  


The god catches the invitation, pushing onwards. “Are you all right?” he asks.  


Gabriel thinks about it a moment, and the hesitation alone is enough of an answer. He never did get along very well with his siblings, but he still loves them. Michael’s entrapment isn’t something that can be reversed, or even should be for risk of releasing the Darkness again. In a way, his fate is more final than the Cage, more permanent than Death even. It is a new type of oblivion, the kind that just thinking about makes Gabriel hurt in the very core of his grace. So he does his very best _not_ to think about it. Michael had always been considered the very best of them. And now he’s gone forever.  


Lucifer is back - the annoying and sadistic sibling that he is - is back. Despite his part in vanquishing the Darkness, the rest of the Heavenly Host shuns him, not willing to associate with him in any capacity more than necessary, and with good reason too. If Gabriel hadn’t known his brother from the beginning, from before the Mark had corrupted him, he wouldn’t have thought twice about abandoning him. The worst part about that thought, though, is the fact that it makes _him_ feel guilt-ridden.  


Lucifer retains control of his garrison, currently tasked with ensuring the safety of the developing new colonies in Eastern Europe. He reports back when necessary, but otherwise remains quiet. No one bothers him, and he doesn’t bother anyone back.  


“I’m…” Gabriel trails off, and his eyes flick to Veles’ ancient storm-grey ones. The archangel doesn’t bother finishing the sentence, and the god seems to understand, bowing his head once in grave acknowledgement.  


“I’ll leave you be,” says the god.  


“Thank you,” replies Gabriel.  


And with that, he is completely alone in the room.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel doesn’t get to spend much time on Earth anymore, but when he has a free moment he likes to visit Sam Winchester. The archangel always had a soft spot for the kid, with his gangly limbs and his girlishly long hair. And who could ever forget the patented “Sam Winchester Resting Bitchface”. That expression is the thing of legends.  


Every now and then he’ll pop in to say hello, even offer a little advice, and the Winchester doesn’t seem to mind. After about the third of fourth time they fall into a routine, Sam going to Jody’s cupboard to toss him a handful of Twix bars, and the two talk. Sometimes they talk about Earth, sometimes Heaven, and other times about their various problems. And sometimes they don’t talk at all, just sit in surprisingly comfortable silence.  


With each visit, Sam’s looking healthier, both in body and spirit. Jody will be there every now and then too, and Gabriel wouldn’t admit it, but he’s always warmed by her presence. He respects her. And she leaves him candy. Jody looks to be doing better as well, the lines which had etched into her face over the past few months seeming less hard, and her smile coming more easily than it had since he met her.  


They interact easily, Sam and Jody, like two components of the same mechanism. It’s another thing that Gabriel would never admit, but he’s glad that the two found each other. It’s difficult, sometimes, finding purpose in this new world. They have found theirs in each other.  


Gabriel almost envies them.

 

|

 

The King of Hell does not need friends. He does not need someone to whine and bitch to, someone to listen to, or drink with, or even just sit in the same room with.  
Except, maybe, sometimes he does.  


Despite being an archangel nonetheless, and a colossal dick to boot, Gabriel just might be the only friend that the demon Crowley has.  


Most of the time, they don’t do much other than complain about their respective heavenly and hellish realms while sharing a glass of hard liquor. Sometimes they’ll play cards too, or even shamelessly binge watch HBO television programs. Neither of them have ever commented on their status as friends, be it out of some sort of misplaced sense of pride, or even a twinge of loyalty to their polar kingdoms. But that has always been the one rule between them: no gushy professions of brotherly love, or whatever the hell it’s called.  


Still, this does not mean that they cannot feel a certain sense of camaraderie between them.  


It’s at one of these such meetings that Gabriel happens to bring up the topic of Lucifer.  


The demon and the angel are sitting at a dark mahogany table somewhere deep within Crowley’s lair (after all, that’s what it is, isn’t it? A lair.), wasting a couple of hours with some rounds of poker and a few of shots of Craig. Crowley has just placed a winning hand, and is preparing to gloat it to its full potential when Gabriel simply frowns, a faraway look in his eyes, and says, “I don’t now what to do about Lucifer.”  


Crowley, whose hands are reaching greedily for the stash of wagered chips, stops mid-motion to stare, the grin freezing on his face. He retreats with empty arms, and the smile fades. “Yeah?” he prompts, and Gabriel is still staring listlessly at some invisible spot on the dark table.  


“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. With him.” Crowley doesn’t know what to say to this; he’s never been very good at dealing with human (or angelic) emotions, especially since his brief addiction to human blood. And with the exception of his companionship with Gabriel and his uneasy alliance with the Winchesters, he has done everything he can to ensure that he has to deal with as few non-business relationships as possible. But this is different. This is a comrade in distress, and he isn’t going to leave him in the trenches. Even if it means dealing with emotions.  


_Fuck._  


“How do you mean?” he asks not-so-helpfully. The archangel glances up with raised eyebrows and no limitation of sarcasm, as if to say, _Really?_  


“I mean, my little brother is Satan and I’m wondering if I made a mistake in letting him come back.”  


Crowley shrugs, raising another glass of amber liquid to his lips. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” He takes a sip, sets the glass down carefully, his fingers tracing the lip of the cup as he thinks.  


“There’s no easy way to say it, darling, but you aren’t wrong. Your brother is literally one of the most evil things since the Darkness. Worse than me, even, and I’m certainly not a good person.”  


Gabriel frowns. “Thanks, you’re really helping. Please feel free to continue.”  


The King of Hell leans forward, his hands clasping together over the dark varnish of the wood. “You can’t undo what you’ve done. But you can ask yourself this: has he done any harm to any innocent soul since you’ve returned him to Heaven?”  


The archangel hesitates, no doubt racking his vessel’s tiny brain for the slightest infraction in recent memory. “No.”  


“And has he defied any of your orders?”  


“Well… no.”  


“Okay then. Next question: has he helped anyone?”  


Again, the frown returns, and Gabriel’s eyes harden. “Be more specific.”  


Crowley sighs, exasperated by the pedantry. Angels can be so thickheaded… “I mean, has he saved anyone’s life? Healed anyone? Sheltered anyone?”  


There is clear hesitation present on Gabriel’s face, evidence that he wants so badly to say, _“No, my brother hasn’t done anything worth praise for millennia.”_ He almost does, Crowley can tell by the tension in his muscles, the pursing of his lips. But he doesn’t.  


“Yes,” he exhales. “He’s protected several blooming colonies in Eastern Europe. Just recently, he stopped a flu outbreak that would have devastated them.”  


“Okay. And has he ever shown any sign that he’s considered disobeying your orders, or causing harm to anyone?”  


“No.”  


“Well then, dear, if you were looking for a simplified answer, there you go. You’re an individual, and you feel how you feel when you feel it. But sometimes you have to bite the bullet. Take it or leave it.”  


Silence hangs heavy in the air, and after a moment Gabriel does that head-tilt thing that all angels seem like they’re pre-programmed to do. “Did you just paraphrase a quote from _Girls_?”  


Crowley doesn’t answer, just takes another sip of his Craig. He might just be hiding the faintest hint of a smile behind the rim of the glass.  


No one really needs friends. Except when they do.

 

|

 

The air is cold and wet in Bretagne, and the condensation seems to stick to Gabriel’s skin as he walks along the coast of the water. There is a lone figure in the distance, and even from here he can see the snowy white of Lucifer’s wing as they curl around him. They cast no shadows against the ground, and to any passing human he would have appeared just as any ordinary man. But Gabriel isn’t human, and neither is Lucifer.  


The other archangel seems to sense his presence, as the muscles in his arms and the backs of his wings next tighten. However, he makes no other movement, instead waiting with feigned disinterest for Gabriel to enter speaking distance.  


“Hello, Brother,” says Lucifer dryly, not looking up from the blue-grey water lapping at his feet.  


The Former Trickster returns the greeting with as little emotion as he can. The words don’t sound so much neutral, as sad and artificial. “Hello, Lucifer.”  


Nick’s body had been rotting in the ground for years, when Gabriel found it, decayed and inhospitable. But it had once housed Lucifer, bits of his grace remaining woven within the lifeless sack of flesh and bones. It is no true vessel, but with some angelic mending and a healthy amount of demon blood running through its veins, it is strong enough to contain the archangel. It will last for his purposes on Earth.  


And in a lugubrious way, Lucifer had almost seemed to miss his old vessel. After all, that is the form his grace had taken on within the Cage, broken and alone.  


Gabriel sometimes wonders about Nick. He has searched Heaven many times, and even enquired to Crowley about it in Hell. His soul could be in either. Or maybe with Lucifer burning him from the inside, his soul had simply fallen apart, extinguished like the flame at the end of a nearly exhausted wick.  


“What are you doing here?” asks the other archangel, interrupting Gabriel’s thoughts.  


Gabriel shrugs nonchalantly. “Can’t a guy just drop in to say hello?”  


Lucifer frowns, his gaze darkening, but to his credit he says something. After a moment, he returns his focus to the water, as does Gabriel, the two silently observing the hypnotic lapping of the waves. They are just close enough to the lip of the water that Gabriel can feel his ankles getting wet, creating dark rings around the cuffs of his jeans.  


“I don’t exactly know why I’m here,” admits Gabriel finally, feeling his brother’s gaze hot on his face. He worries his lip a bit, a human habit he’s picked up over the centuries. “I guess I just wanted you to know -”  


“-What a failure I am? Yeah, I’ve heard it before-”  


“-that I’m glad you’re here.”  


There is an intense silence, and finally Gabriel brings himself to meet his brother’s glance. Lucifer’s eyes are actually wide, full of something akin to a childish wonder, his lips parted slightly. “Oh,” he says breathily, the syllable just barely pushing past his mouth.  


Standing side by side, neither of them says anything for an exceptionally long time. It isn’t until the sun is sinking, dipped low and crimson in the sky as it licks the horizon line, that Gabriel finally says something more. “You know, I never wanted it. When Dad threw you out.”  


Lucifer lets out an indignant huff. “Neither did I.”  


Gabriel’s tone sharpens, demanding the attention of the other angel. “I’m being serious here, Lucifer. I just want you to understand… You did some fucking awful things. For a while I considered ripping out your grace and leaving you in this human body to decompose for all of the things that have happened. But that would make me just like Dad, and we would have learned _nothing_. I couldn’t bear that.” He sighs, the next words coming out in barely more than a whisper. “You’re still my brother,” he says. “And I love you.”  


Lucifer shakes his head, but bites back whatever snide comment he had in store. Instead, his features almost seem to soften in sympathy. Or maybe it’s something else… relief, perhaps?  “You know, you can’t just pretend that all of those things that happened didn’t. Dad _did_ throw me out, even if you refused to do so. I burned and killed and tortured so many people. You wouldn’t have been wrong to punish me. In fact, it would have been easier…” The Morning Star squeezes his human vessel’s eyes shut, his face scrunched in agitation. “I don’t feel remorse. But I don’t crave the bloodshed, not anymore. I’m trying to get better. But it’s so fucking hard.”  


The former Trickster moves to provide what little comfort he can for his twisted little brother, his hand hovering hesitantly above his shoulder before at last settling upon it. Lucifer leans into the touch.  


“I know.”

 

* * *

 

Another meeting comes and goes, but strangely enough Gabriel does not find himself hungrily counting away the minutes. In fact, he is almost caught by surprise when it’s over, and he finds himself genuinely invested in the words of his peers. It’s almost stupid, how light he feels right now, but he finds that he doesn’t care.  


After the meeting, Veles doesn’t say anything, doesn’t pull him aside as he had last time. But as he goes to leave, he casts Gabriel a knowing gaze and a curt nod. Then he’s gone, and Gabriel’s left alone, only then appreciating the gesture in his friend’s absence.  


Later that day he finds himself playing checkers against Crowley (because chess is for snooty pricks) while watching more bootlegged HBO. They’re on their fourth episode of a _Game of Thrones_ marathon when the King of Hell double jumps Gabriel, claiming the captured pieces with a sadistic smile. “So,” he says as he reaches across the board with his stubby little arms to snatch up the black plastic chips. “I take it you talked to Lucy. You seem more upbeat than usual today, although your strategic skills still suck.”  


Gabriel snorts, but concedes. “Yeah, I talked to him,” he says. A grin pulls at his lips as he jumps one of Crowley’s own red pieces, eliciting a frown from the demon. “There are a lot of things we won’t be able to fix. But we’re trying.”  


“Good. There are plenty of divorce lawyers here in Hell, but not all that many marriage counselors.”  


Gabriel glowers. “Dick.”  


“Oh, you wish, darling.”  


The archangel’s glare intensifies.  


The game concludes with Crowley’s victory, followed by two more matches ending in Gabriel’s triumph and another three episodes of _Game of Thrones_. Gabriel remains there for a long time, watching images of blood and sex and death and triumph dance across the screen, a catalogue of human legacy displayed by thousands of tiny pixels and electrical currents. He sits quietly beside his best friend, sipping at his drink and kicking his feet back on the table, Crowley doing the same.  


He knows that shortly he’ll have to return to the Host, fulfilling tasks and commanding others, but for once the thought does not put him off. He has his friends. He has his brother. And for the first time in a long while, he feels at ease.  


In a way that he never really understood in Heaven, right here and right now he feels at home.

**Author's Note:**

> I've actually never seen _Game of Thrones_. Or _Girls_.


End file.
